And This Is Why
by stardustinthesky
Summary: It happens in a motel room, with his hand under her breast plate and that's a good thing it's cold, right? -- Two times John and Cameron kissed.


_and this why._ t;tscc. john/cameron. _it happens in a motel room, with his hand under her breast plate and that's a good thing it's cold, right?_ two times john and cameron kissed. AU but slight references to _samson & delilah_, _born to run._

* * *

The first time he kisses her, she's as still as a statue – frozen, on stand-by as if she was waiting for her system to reboot. She doesn't blink nor she closes her eyes – he can't really blame her, he's as stunned as her computer chip is probably trying to analyze the situation. Data is processed until it finally gets her an answer—

_Kissing is an expression of affection between mankind._

_Appropriate answer is to kiss back. Proceed? Yes/No._

She doesn't kiss him back, but at least appears mildly confused. _This requires explaining,_ he thinks grimly, _and I don't think I even know the answer._

This is something he never planned, _obviously_ – something he should have never done. Not only because this is fraternizing with the enemy (even though she's on their side, thanks to his future self) but how can he not think about what she is? A soulless machine mimicking, _replicating_ human behavior, and which _can't freaking have feelings for another being_.

Still this is something a small part of him has wanted to do since day one, from the first time he saw the pretty girl talking to him, the new kid in town. It was only natural, he tells himself, to be attracted to someone he thought to be just a girl – flesh and bones and human tissue, living heat and pumping blood.

But he can't rationalize this – metal endoskeleton covered by flesh and more often than not blank eyes and odd speech – a reprogrammed Terminator sent back from the future to protect him against her kind, pretending to be his sister.

People not knowing the secret wouldn't understand. People knowing it wouldn't understand either. How could they when he doesn't even begin to make head or tails of this? How would he even want to understand that he might have fallen in love with a machine?

He backs away as if burned by the feel of her lips against his and, not knowing how to explain, stumbles out of her bedroom.

He hesitates once out and looks back. She stands there, in her ballerina-practicing clothes, with a few strands of hair fallen across her face. She's beautiful in a way that he can't even describe and something deep inside pulls at him. It can be so easy to just forget, and just as easy to remember.

"I don't understand," she says in an emotionless voice, "what was it for ?"

_Just a machine._

He blinks and the spell is definitely gone and all he can see is the metal, the red (blue) eyes. "Nothing," he stutters and he hates himself for it. "Just— never mind."

They never mention it again.

* * *

The second time (and last time) they kiss, she's different. They're _both_ different – time has changed them irrevocably and even with the option of reboot, she has learned, she has experienced things.

It happens in a motel room, with his hand under her breast plate and _that's a good thing it's cold, right?_

_It's good. It's perfect._

There's something in her eyes, the way she presses up against him, the sigh that escapes her lips. It's too tempting to have her underneath him with her skin that feels way too soft.

This time, when he leans down she closes the distance between them and this is something he's not imagining and _it's for real_. It's hesitant and unsure, as if the computer chip has given way to something else and she allows herself to feel, to experience something in a new, human way.

She closes her eyes and wounds her arms around his neck and this feels way too much. It's like learning to smile and be taught how to behave by John Connor in a time that has long passed and yet still has to happen. Things are already known beforehand, she knows his reactions, how to proceed and it's easy – data is processed and questions are solved.

But this, this is hard.

It's not about data and calculating – it's about feeling but how can she do that? Mimicking is the closest to the truth as she can but she can't lie to him. Terminators – whatever the model, be it a T-888 or a T-1001 or even her model, TOK 715 – are programmed to deceive in certain situations but once exposed, they don't lie.

She can certainly not lie to him _now_. Not after _everything_. He wants to tell her that, to grab her by the shoulders, _why would you lie to me _now_?_

_You can trust me. I love you. I love you please… I love you John, and you love me._

"I love you, John." It comes out as a whisper, a breath dying on her lips.

It seems as if the air suddenly stood still, as if the world just stopped spinning – as if it was just _them_ (_ourselves alone and nothing else matters anymore_). The look in her eyes almost breaks him and almost validates the belief that the read-only measure taken by Skynet is further proof that nothing is impervious to feelings, emotions.

"You can't love, you're a machine." He hates to say that, to break the spell. He knows what he's telling her is the truth – she thinks she loves him, and the software may believe it and _he_ wants to believe it so badly because it's Cameron and he _loves_ her but she's just a reprogrammed Terminator.

Just that.

The perfect, straight line between who he is (human) and what she is (machine) is blurring now and he knows he shouldn't cross it but it's hard, so hard not to look at her and not want to gather her in his arms, to run his fingers through her hair and say, _they don't understand us, let's just run away together_.

But they can't. Too much at stake.

He pulls his hand from under her cold breast plate and sits up in bed. Her eyes follow him as he moves and the look in them reminds him of that time she was pinned between two trucks and pleaded with him not to take out her chip.

_John, listen to me, I don't want to go. Please. John. Please. I'm good now. Listen to me, I don't want to go. I'm sorry. That wasn't me. I'm fixed now. I ran a test. Everything's perfect._

"I love _you_," she repeats.

John closes his eyes and inhales deeply – she can't lie to him. When he opens them, she's still lying there, exposed in more ways than one would think, her eyes watching him. Will it be possible one day that her vision won't be filled with anything more than what she sees?

He wants to shake his head and she'll ask why, so he doesn't. Instead, he just runs his fingertips along her cheeks, ghosts and feathers on skin that isn't really skin (_fooled you_).

"Let's get you patched up," he simply says, his hand in hers.

(just a dream.)


End file.
